


Rancher Needed.

by raccodactyl



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Smut, Post-Canon, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 05:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19222375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccodactyl/pseuds/raccodactyl
Summary: RANCHER NEEDEDThe words were in bold print a few pages into the newspaper.Horses, cows, chickens. Room and board and meals provided. Fair pay.Holliday Ranch, Big Valley





	Rancher Needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi okay this is the first thing I've written that I've actually been wicked psyched to post. It's the longest one-off I've written by a long shot and I'm pretty proud of it and just, yeah. I want the best for him and this is the first time where I felt like I've really owned the plot of something I've written. Please leave a comment, start a discussion, feedback positive or negative, I really want to hear from you. 
> 
> ALSO: [Here. Open a new tab. Take this. Please. ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_kvKqCWCzkk0rHZiR5k-IPMISFx7U7AGAA)

 

You tossed a dime to the boy working the stand tucked the bundle under your arm, going into the run-down saloon to enjoy a cheap meal. The bartender greeted you with a friendly face and you grabbed your dinner and a bottle of ale. You sat down in your usual chair and listened in to the various conversations as you skimmed the paper, searching for work for the summer. 

 

**_RANCHER NEEDED_ **

 

The words were in bold print a few pages into the newspaper. 

 

_ Horses, cows, chickens. Room and board and meals provided. Fair pay. _

 

_ Holliday Ranch, Big Valley _

 

You didn’t need to see much other than “decent pay.” Work was fairly scarce around these parts so you knew you had to jump on whatever you could. Ranching wasn’t easy, but it was straight forward. You enjoyed working with animals, shoveling their shit was another ballgame. Nonetheless, you kept your finger on the ad as you finished your food.  _ Best I head up there today, it’s already past three _ , you thought to yourself. 

 

You tucked the paper into your bag and dabbed your face with the napkin before getting up from your chair. You gave another friendly nod to the bartender before heading back outside. You didn’t know West Elizabeth all that well, but there weren’t many places around Big Valley to mix up with the one in the paper. There were a few directions tacked to the bottom of the ad and you could figure your way around well enough. It shouldn’t be much of a challenge. 

 

You gave your horse an extra carrot and set off on your trot towards Holliday, only real hope being that the boss wasn’t a total asshole. Considering they were only asking for one hand, it likely wasn’t more than a family farm, but there was still a chance you could be wrong.

 

You made your way through the hills and valleys until you found yourself trotting along the bends of Little Creek River. You headed just a tad south and you soon found yourself facing the wood archway above a dirt path. There was a quaint wooden house, can’t have had more than 4 rooms to it. On the porch sat a man, dressed in worn clothes from head to toe. He had a few years on you but wasn’t an old man by any stretch. 

 

He looked up at you when he heard the hooves of your horse on the ground. He didn’t speak first, asserting himself in a subtle but clear way. 

 

“Hey there, sir,” you said tentatively as you got off your horse. “I saw an ad in the paper for a rancher needed, is this Holliday?”

 

“That it is,” he said as he got up, coming to stand at the top of the stairs. “You’re the first person to come by and I’ve had that listing in the paper for a few days now.”

 

“Lucky me,” you nodded, “You’re not particularly easy to find out in these parts.”

 

“I can’t say that wasn’t intentional,” he flashed a half-smile. “Name’s Arthur Morgan, I’m happy to meet ya.”

 

You took his outstretched hand in a firm shake. “Y/N, pleasure is mine.”

 

“Well, Y/N, I’ll go pretty easy on you today. Follow me, I’ll show you around, where you’ll be sleepin’ and all that.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” you nodded. 

 

“Ahh, don’t bother with that. Just call me Arthur.”

 

“Alright then… Arthur.”

 

You took a moment to properly hitch your horse before following him up the stairs. He went through the door with you in tow. The place was fairly plain, little specks of brown and blue decor coming out against the greyish wood of the interior. It was simple, the kitchen and living room separated by a fireplace and two rooms closed off by oak doors, one of them hanging open. 

 

“It ain’t much but it works,” he said, “Room on the right there is yours. Kitchen is open, I just ask that you contribute to food stocks when you can. There’s an outhouse just around the back there and… I guess that’s about all there is to it. Sun’s getting ready to set so there’s not much else I can show ya. You got anyone you need to report to?”

 

“Nah, I’m about all I’ve got. Thank you for askin’ though. I can’t cook all that well but I’d be happy to fix something for you, sir,” you offered.

 

“Sure,” he said with a faint smile, “Kitchen’s all yours.”

 

You couldn’t place why, but you felt a deep desire to please him— to make him like you. You heard the wood chair squeak as he took a seat. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked to the counter and began to dig through the cupboard for the staples you needed to make a decent meal. You suddenly felt insecure in all of your motions, suddenly critical of the way you walk, the way you bent down, the way you spoke. You felt wrong in a way that didn’t make sense; you had been this way your entire life, why did you feel insecure now. You tried to stifle the shakiness in your hands as you dug out the ingredients to fry some venison and boil potatoes. You were just putting a can of corn over the stove when he spoke up.

 

“Where you from, boy?”

 

The sudden question startled you, made you jump. You heard him let out a quiet snicker and a blush crept over your cheeks. 

 

“Sorry, got a bit lost,” you said, turning away from the food to face him. “I don’t know if I’m really from anywhere. Was born in West Virginia, moved around quite a bit. Landed myself down here a little less than a year ago. Never found a place to call my territory I guess.”

 

“I think I can understand that better than most,” he nodded. 

 

“That so?”

 

He leaned back, easing up a bit, “Mmhm. I won’t bore you with my stories though.”

 

“Nonsense,” you shook your head. “I’m sure you’ve got quite the background.”

 

“You really curious?”

 

“I won’t push, but I am real open to listening.”

 

A certain gleam came to his eye, it had clearly been a long time since he sat down and got to know someone. He seemed kind and mellow, you wondered why it would be that way, but you were glad to bring it to him. 

 

“You don’t seem to be the ranching type. How did you land yourself in this place,” you asked. 

 

“I wasn’t, not till about a year ago,” he said. “Ran with a larger group and then uh, things went south. I was real sick at the time, TB of all things to get. Some people left me for dead and ran off and I ain’t bothered to find the others who slipped out before it got bad. Stayed in New Austin for a while, dry heat helped to get the sick out of my system along with frequent trips to the doctor. Don’t think I can stress how lucky I was to not have died.”

 

“Well goddamn,” you replied sympathetically. “That’s some deep shit. Happy to know you made it out okay.”

 

“Yeah,” he said with a smile, “Happy to be here. Since all that mess, I just decided to settle down. Live off the land mostly, make extra money hunting. Figured it was time I get someone ‘round here to help out.”

 

“Well considering you’ve already opened up your home to me, I think it’s fair to say that I can earn money the same way you do. Don’t need all your cash going into my pocket just for it to go back into buying food for this place. You’ll still be my boss, but why not just try to cut out the middleman.”

 

He went quiet, looking contemplative, you spoke up again, “We don’t have to do it that way by any means but-”

 

“Nah I quite like that idea, actually,” he nodded. “I don’t really care for the idea of being a boss anyway. You carry your weight around here… yeah, we got a deal, friend.”

 

You took a few steps and shook his hand once again, this time taking real notice of the way his calloused hands felt against your own. They were weathered from years upon years of being overworked to no end. Much like the lines of a tree stump, you knew each dent and scar on them held a story you would one day be lucky enough to hear. 

 

“Plates are in the cupboard on the left there, apple cider to your right,” he said after a few minutes

 

“These should be about ready,” you said more to yourself than him, going into the mentioned cupboard and grabbing a plate for each of you before putting a set of glasses and the jug of apple cider in the center of the table. 

 

You took the seared venison from the skillet and dressed the plates, plopping a generous scoop of potatoes onto each of them and emptying the can of corn between the two of you. You took the seat across from him after you handed him his plate and utensils. He gave a quick “thank ya” before pouring a cup of cider for each of you.

 

“You’re not a bad chef, boy,” he said as he dug into the food before him. 

 

“I can’t do much in the kitchen but I’d like to think I can cook deer,” you said. “My momma taught me some staples some years ago before she passed away. Think I owe it to her if nothing else.”

 

“I’m sorry about that,” he replied earnestly. 

 

“No need to apologize,” you said back, “She was a kind woman, good heart. In the end, it was some harsh strand of influenza that took her. I miss her, I do, but there’s no reason to get hung up on it.”

 

“I lost my mother when I was only little. I don’t remember much of her to be quite honest, but I was always told she was kind. My father, on the other hand, no good bastard. Watched him die when I was 11 but dammit if that weren’t too much time spent on this earth.”

 

“I never knew my daddy. Bailed on my mom before I even popped. Guess that’s just the way it is.”

 

“Well, look at us then. Two sad bastards ending up in a little cabin,” he said with a smile. “Guess it’s just a lucky coincidence.”

 

You let out a laugh and raised your glass, “To dead mothers and shitty fathers.”

 

He couldn’t help but laugh at that one, the warm sound music to your ears as you watched belly tighten. He clicked his glass against yours, “You’re a sick one.”

 

“I like to call it coping.”

 

“Meant to ask you,” you said after a short silence, “Noticed a guitar in the corner over there. You play?”

 

“Just a little, ain’t very good. Knew someone that did a while back that tried to teach me a few things and I try to remember what I can.” 

 

“You know, I think there’s a shop in Blackwater that sells books on how to play,” you replied, “I’d still like to hear you though, one day I mean, if you’d be comfortable.”

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

The two of you got to know each other a little better over the course of your meal. You started to notice the little things and you partly cursed yourself for picking up on them so fast. You studied each detail of his face as if it were the last time you were to see it made notes of his speech patterns and the way his voice moved. You caught the way one of his eyes squinted just barely when he was listening, the fleck of green around his pupils, the way he scratched at his beard when he was thinking about something. 

 

You still felt a sense of insecurity but it was slowly washing away. The desire to impress him, though, only grew more intense. You did your best to stay true to yourself, maybe embellishing some of your stories to keep up with the grand tales he told. You couldn’t really understand why you felt this way but there was no time to focus on it at that moment. 

 

“You like dominoes,” he asked, snapping you out of your thoughts once again. 

 

“No one ever taught me to play,” you said honestly.

 

“Really,” he said surprised, “Lived your whole adult life without ever playing dominoes?”

 

You just shrugged, somewhat embarrassed but keeping a brave face.

 

“Alright. I’ll help you clean up here and I’ll show you how to play proper. It’s easy to pick up, I think you’ll get it quick. Been a long time since I played with anybody,” he said the last part more quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The two of you cleared the table, keeping your cups out and continuing to pass the jug of cider. He dried as you washed and things were over with fairly quickly. He went into his wardrobe and pulled a case of dominoes from the drawer. He put out a stand in front of each of you and spread the dominoes face down on the table, shuffling them about.

 

“Go on and choose any seven.”

 

You did as you were told and placed them in the stand. He did the same as you and pushed the spares to the side. He continued to give quiet directions and soon enough you were on your way to being a right champ. You played several games and soon enough, he didn’t have to go easy on you.

 

“You learn fast,” he said with a smile. 

 

You couldn’t hide the smile that came to your face at the innocent compliment. He was the first person since your mother passed to ever sit you down and teach you anything, no matter how juvenile. Hours passed like minutes as the two of you simply sat and plaid dominoes, growing more comfortable and tossing playground insults back and forth. 

 

“Well I think it’s about time I tuck in,” he said, scooting back in his chair. “Let’s go get your horse in the stable and you can get your belongings in here.”

 

“Alright,” you nodded as you quickly cleaned up the game. 

 

“You can keep that out on the table, got a feeling we’ll probably be playing a lot.”

 

He turned and headed out the door before you could say anything and it was almost embarrassing how much the thought made you smile.  _ He’s just barely more than a stranger. What has gotten into you? _

 

You followed him and unhitched your horse, feeding him a carrot and leading him by the reigns towards the stable a hundred or so feet away. The barn was much bigger than the house, giving the animals a lot of room to move around. On the left were two horses, on the right two cows, and a wide, fenced walkway in the middle. 

 

“Your horse play well with others,” he asked. 

 

“He should be fine, never had trouble with him before.”

 

“Good,” he nodded before swinging open the tall gate that led to the horse pen. Arthur went in behind you and went straight for both of his. The horses looked happy to see him, as much as an animal could express. He dug into his pocket for a few sugar cubes and fed them each one, whispering praises and humming softly. 

 

“Heads up,” he called before tossing a cube your way. You fed your horse and he continued, “You can put his saddle over there by the others, I’m sure he’ll be happy to have the load off his back.” 

 

You undid the fastens and took the heavy saddle from his back and threw it over the weighted wood barrel like the others. Your horse let out a happy winnie and you gave him a few pats on the neck, saying your goodnights and telling him to be good to the others. Arthur waited by the sliding barn door, letting you have your moment. You slung the saddle bag with your things over your shoulder before catching up with him and helped him close the heavy door before heading back inside. 

 

“Can tell you care a lot about your animals,” you said. 

 

“I can say the same about you, par’ ner,” he replied. “They’re far simpler than people, easier to get to know and get a bond with. I wouldn’t say I like ‘em more, but they sure are less fussy.”

 

“Can’t argue with that.”

 

You both shucked your boots off and left them by the front door, “You let me know if you need a spare blanket or anything. I know how I cold it gets in these rooms.”

 

“Thank you,” you said. “For everything I mean. Not often I meet someone half as kind as yourself.”

 

He shook his head with a smirk, “Don’t know ‘bout that. Goodnight, Y/N, I’ll see you bright and early.”

 

He went to his room and you went off to yours. There was an oil lamp on the bedside table and single bed pressed in the corner of the exterior wall and the one that kept your rooms apart. You lit the lamp and put the few items of clothing you brought in the wardrobe, putting the other miscellaneous items on top of the dresser. You stripped down to your union suit and sat on the bed, digging into your discarded satchel to grab your journal and pencil.

 

_ Met a real nice feller today. Letting me stay with him and work on his ranch. Hate to admit just how handsome he is and hate how big a fool I am to be thinking the thoughts I am. Best not do anything I’ll regret, I’d rather not mess up the best thing that’s happened to me in some years. _

 

You dimmed the lamp back down and tucked the journal in the drawer, letting your head fall on the worn pillow before bringing the blanket up to cover your shoulders. He was right, it was a bit cold in here. Your own insecurity kept you from getting up though, curse your fear of seeming needy.

 

\--

 

The sun couldn’t have risen soon enough. You didn’t wake up particularly well-rested-- or rested at all for that matter. You woke up just as the sun peeked through the sheer curtain and warmed the floorboards. You stretched your muscles and felt the bones in your body crack from the stiff mattress, though it was a bit better than sleeping on the cold ground as you usually did out in the woods. You got on a clean set of clothes and walked out into the kitchen, finding yourself alone but being comforted by quiet echoes of Arthur’s snores through the walls.

 

You scrambled eggs in a skillet and made oatmeal with cinnamon and sugar in a pot, just enough for the two of you to have a decent breakfast and carry on with your day. You placed the pot of coffee to heat up over the woodstove and waited patiently for the other food to finish cooking. You hummed to yourself as you stir the oatmeal and made sure the eggs were cooked, losing yourself as you had the night before and focusing on nothing but the task at hand. 

 

You were startled yet again by a sudden pair of hands reaching for the coffee pot. You let out a loud “oh shit” before gaining your bearings and remembering where you were. 

 

“Sorry about that,” you said, a blush creeping to your cheeks as you stared at your feet and rubbed the back of your neck. “I get lost in my head easy.”

 

“So I’ve noticed,” he smirked, his voice low and gravelly, thick with sleep. “‘Preciate this. Didn’t think I’d get someone to cook for me when I put that ad out.”

 

“I’m happy to do it,” you nodded, “Least I could do, given our arrangement here.”

 

“You don’t owe me a thing, boy,” he replied. 

 

“I know.”

 

The day carried on and you did your share of chores around the small ranch. You finished around mid-afternoon and Arthur gave you a sandwich to feed the hunger the roared in your belly. 

 

“You wanna go out hunting,” he asked.

 

“I don’t see why not.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” he smiled, “We’ll leave after lunch. Bring the workhorse so she can carry the game came and I’ll get the rest of the gear ready.”

 

“Alright.”

 

You finished up and wiped your hands on your pants before going out to find the tall, black Shire. “There you are, girl,” you hummed as you pet her neck. You led her to the stable and grabbed a stool so you could strap the saddle on. You grabbed an oatcake from your beg which she accepted with a sound of gratitude and you were sent on your way. You grabbed a rifle from your saddle and met Arthur at the front of the barn.

 

He had a bow around his back and another in his hand, a quiver full of a variety of arrows sat on his back. “You don’t need to bring that rifle,” he said, “I got all we need here.”

 

“Never took you for a bowman,” you replied. 

 

“I don’t care much guns these days,” he replied earnestly, “Seen too much death in my time to stomach ‘em anymore.”

 

\--

 

You and Arthur had grown to be more of a team than a boss and employee as the days turned to weeks. It was good, fair, you split the work practically right down the middle, but you did prefer to do the more physically taxing work to keep it from him. He was far more than able-bodied, but the same drive that made you want to impress him made you want to take the burden from him in that way. You’d do all of the work around the ranch if it meant making him happy. 

 

You knew your feelings for Arthur were starting to blossom into something far more than just friendly, but you did everything you could to keep it to yourself. You’d filled a quarter of your journal in just three short weeks that you’d been with him, each page detailing your fall deeper and deeper into some overwhelming emotion you felt towards him. You never made a move, never dared to try and make an advance, you knew you had to keep this to yourself, no matter how difficult that may be. 

 

It was a particularly gloomy day and late in the evening he called out, “Storm!”

 

You knew what you had to do. You rushed outside with haste, not bothering to put a jacket on. You led the animals into the stable the ushered the chickens back into the henhouse. With a dramatic crack of thunder, the rain hit hard, coming down in sheets and soaking both of you from head to toe. The wind stung as the temperatures dropped, leaving your teeth chattering as you made sure to get the animals into shelter. The two of you pushed the barricade over the barn doors and ran back into the house. 

 

“Goddamn,” he panted. “That’s the worst storm I’ve seen in months.”

 

“Just glad to be inside,” you said as you caught your breath, “Better than being stuck out there.”

 

“You said it best.”

 

He undid the buttons of his shirt and let his soaked suspended dangle, wringing the water out over the sink, “Best we get into something dry.”

 

“I’ll fix a pot of coffee real quick. You go on and get changed.”

 

He gave a nod before heading into his bedroom, “Goddammit!”

 

“What’s wrong,” you called back anxiously.

 

“Oh you moron, Morgan,” he grumbled. “Left the damn windows open and now my bed is soaked.”

 

“Christ,” you sighed, letting your head fall back, “I did the same damn thing.”

 

He grabbed at his hair as he tried to think of a solution, “Looks like we’ll be camping in the living room.”

 

“Better than a soggy mattress.”

 

You went into your bedroom and shut the window before getting into a new union suit. You didn’t have much of a choice but to go out in nothing but that. Considering you only owned a few pairs of pants and all of them were either caked in mud or soaking wet, it just wasn’t worth the fuss. Arthur had seen you plenty of times in nothing but your undergarments and you saw him the same way, but you always got anxious at the feeling of being so exposed. Sure, you were still covered from head to toe, but being in such thin, revealing fabric in close proximity with the man you had grown sweet on was more than just nerve-wracking. 

 

You came out to find Arthur dressed just the same, though the black of his had faded to a sad grey. You poured a cup of coffee for each of you before going to the living room, seeing Arthur spreading out blankets and towels in front of the fireplace for a make-shift bed. He used the cushions from the sofa as pillows and sat criss-cross in front of the fire, sticking his hands out to let them warm up and dry off. 

 

“It got cold fast,” you said, taking a spot next to him and handing the ceramic mug of coffee, served with a single sugar cube just as he liked.

 

“No kidding,” he replied before taking a sip of hot beverage, “Get that blanket over your shoulders before you freeze. C ’mon, you’re still soaked.”

 

You didn’t fight, only followed his directions. It was a bit of a relief to have an extra layer on, both for your physical and mental comfort. You sat there in a pleasant silence and let your body warm back up, feeling nice and toasty from your closeness to the fire. 

 

“You know, you never did play guitar for me,” you said. “You don’t gotta, but I’d still like to hear what you’ve got.”

 

“I don’t much more than a few campfire songs-”

 

“Awe, come on. This practically a campfire right?”

 

He just rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, shooting you a playful glare.

 

“Please,” you begged. “If only just this once.”

 

“The things I do for you, boy,” he shook his head before walking and grabbing the worn guitar from where it was propped in the corner. 

 

He sat down with the body settled between his crossed legs and ran his thumb to strum the strings that were in dire need of a change. He listened closely and tuned it as accurately as he could before letting his fingers clumsily move across the fretboard. You watched as the muscle memory kicked back in and his fingers found their places to strum a chord. 

 

You watched with intensity and admiration as the chords turned to melody and his deep, warm voice began to hum along. You were mesmerized. What he was doing was a bit clumsy and by all means amateur, but it was the trust you built that became evident at that moment. His voice was comforting and though he wasn’t singing any words, the way he hummed along was beautiful in its own right. 

 

He went on for a good while but no matter how long it was, it was too early to stop; he could’ve gone on for a decade and it still would’ve been too short. He wouldn’t meet your eyes as he braced for some form of negative reaction that would never come. 

 

“Arthur, that was-”

 

“It weren’t good, you don’t need to tell m-.”

 

“No,” you said firmly, “I loved it.”

 

He looked up at you, his pupils blown out to practically cover the blue underneath. He bit at his cheek and studied your face, searching for any trace of deception but coming up with nothing.

 

“I mean it,” you stressed. 

 

“I never, um… Never played for anyone before.”

 

“I’m more than honored to be the first.”

 

He got up and returned the guitar to its spot. The anxiety you felt soon returned when you realized  _ just _ how close in proximity you’d be sleeping. The palette he made was barely big enough to sleep two people and Arthur was built like a bulldog; you’d spend the night brushing shoulders, there was no way to avoid it. 

 

You took your spot, Arthur to your left. You let your head fall to the pillow, fatigue coming over you no matter how anxious you were.  _ There’s nothing to worry about _ , you repeated over and over in your head.  _ You’re just spending a night on the floor. _

 

“Sleep well, Y/N,” he whispered as he laid down.

 

“Sweet dreams.”

 

It took you a good, long while to fall asleep. You could barely shut your mind off and just when you thought you were in the clear, Arthur would shift and spin you into a whirlwind of thoughts once again. You couldn’t even tell what you were fixating on, you just knew that you were anxious. By the sound of his breathing, he wasn’t asleep either, which did _ not _ help to soothe you in any way. After over an hour of tossing and turning, you finally passed out, 

 

\--

 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but you woke up feeling different in a way you couldn’t place in your groggy haze. Your eyes fluttered open and you took in your surroundings, all of it taking more than a few seconds to really register. Your head was on Arthur's chest and his arm was around your back, holding you in close. You backed up frantically out of pure reflex and in the same second he was doing the same, breathing heavily out of his mouth. 

 

His eyes caught firelight and you braced yourself for a scolding that never came. He looked at you with the same lost, confused expression you gave him. He bit his cheek and you did the same, neither of you willing to break eye contact and even less willing to break the tense silence. 

 

You took in a silent gulp, there was no going back now-- you knew that, he knew that. 

 

You didn’t back down, only went back to the spot where you were previously. He did the same without exchanging a word, laying on his back and opening his arm for you to lay. You got closer to him, placing your head on his chest and hearing the rapid, pounding heart rate that matched your own. One of your legs slung over one of his and his arm wrapped around you. You let your fingers rub lazy circles on his belly as he stroked your upper arm. Both of your hearts began to slow and your breathing deepened, the continuous, even rise and fall of his chest grounded you and soon sleep overtook you once again.

 

\--

 

You woke up at a decent hour this time, but the harsh feeling of an empty bed bit without a shred of remorse. You sat up and stretched, rubbing your eyes and letting out a deep yawn. You looked around and, much to your disdain, Arthur was nowhere to be seen. 

 

You got up from your spot on the floor and went to the kitchen, your eyes spotting a folded piece of paper on the table. You opened it up and revealed the short message to your eyes. 

 

_ I’m sorry. _

 

There was no name to address or sign off, it was a very simple, blunt apology for an action he had no reason to apologize for. It felt like someone reached into your chest squeezed your heart until it stopped beating. You felt numb, absolutely numb.

 

You put on the clothes you had left to air-dry and got your boots back on. No matter how you felt, the animals still needed tending to. You opened the barn doors to let the cows and horses graze in the fenced field before letting the chickens out of the hen house and run around their pen. You scattered feed along the ground and then went back to the barn to place a bale of hay on each side of it. You pumped buckets full of water and went to tend to the potatoes and carrots that you grew. The sinking feeling managed to carry you throughout the day, motivating you to distract yourself as best as you could and kick your ass into high gear. You did all the chores Arthur usually did and did those assigned to you even better. Wood was chopped, ripe plants harvested, animals taken care of and stables cleaned out. 

 

Through all of this, there was still no sign of Arthur. His horse and saddle were gone but there was no sign as to where he was going or when he was coming back. You couldn’t help but feel guilty, the whole situation being partially your fault but undeniably a joint effort. You debated just packing your belongings and leaving, but you also knew that you couldn’t leave the animals to fend for themselves for more than a day. At the end of the day, you really didn’t have any other place to go. 

 

You walked inside and fixed a simple sandwich for yourself. You waited and prayed for the safe return of Arthur and everything would be just peachy and you could pretend the night before never happened, but of course, that’s just not how life works. You would have to face him and get some form of closure or you would always be left wondering. 

 

You fought against your own conscience and peeked into his room. Through your weeks here, you had never set foot inside it, but that changed in an instant. On his desk, you saw his leather-bound journal, spine up and open to his most recent entry. It was a massive invasion of privacy and you knew you’d shoot a man if he ever got a hand on yours, but your curiosity got the better of you. 

 

With quiet, cautious steps, you approached the journal as if it were booby-trapped. You took note of where it sat on the desk before flipping it over to the most recent entry. Your eyes went wide as you took in the image before you. Spread across both pages was a sketch of you sleeping from the night before, the biggest tell being that it was from his perspective. The top of your head was shown and the way your arms and legs fell over his body and the sight of the fire at your feet. As if the sketch itself didn’t take your breath away, what was captioned above it was enough to make you drop dead where you stood. 

 

_ May this be the only instance in my life in which I  _ _ wish  _ _ to have regrets.  _

 

You put the book back where you found it, being careful to put it  _ exactly _ where you found it. You backed out of the room with the same caution you had entered and shut the door behind you. Your head and heart raced and you felt like you were going to just explode, but you had to calm yourself down. 

 

You went back to your bedroom and dug into your nightstand to search for your journal so you could vent properly to someone or something. The nightstand was empty and so you searched the bed, just barely beginning to dry from the storms the day before. Under the blankets, there was nothing, neither under the mattress nor the bed itself either. If you weren’t panicked at that moment, you sure as hell were now. 

 

You went back to the table and searched around the living room for any sign of the book you had poured your heart into for countless nights but there was nothing to be found. You went back over to the table, finding the note Arthur had left you this morning and everything made clicked. The paper was all too familiar, the pattern of the tear too similar to be a coincidence, and the page itself not quite yellow enough to be taken from Arthur’s. 

 

He had your journal. He took it with him. That is why he apologized and why he left his own in a place in which it was practically begging to be found. You longer felt guilty for peaking into his book, now only wanted to read deeper. You’d never been more confused and just entirely out of your element, but there was nothing else to do at that moment. You couldn’t leave and you hated the idea of staying. Nothing about this worked. 

 

Against your better judgment, you returned to Arthur’s bedroom, his journal staying there lifeless where you had put it. You still approached with caution before grabbing his journal. You held it tightly and turned around. His favorite blue shirt was thrown over lazily over the trunk at the foot of his bed. Something within you told you to grab it, and that you did. 

 

You sat on the floor with your back to the bed, the journal resting on your legs and his shirt in your hands. You gripped the shirt, letting your hands run over the worn fabric. Your eyes closed as you brought it to your face, breathing in deeply and nuzzling against it. The scent you had grown to know and find peace in flooded through your system and you relished at the moment, barely willing to move your face from the shirt. 

 

You bit your lip and let out a shaky breath, tears threatening to fall as you pressed the fabric to your cheek. You sniffled, moving your knees up and clutching the book to your chest.  _ I can’t do this, you thought. _ You felt cold, hollow, and the only thing protecting you from whatever lies before was the shirt you held to your face. 

 

You heard a creek in the floorboard and the sounds of weight shifting. Straight ahead, on the wall adjacent to where you sat, stood Arthur in the doorway. He held his hat over his tummy and stood with his feet turned in. You let the book leave your lap but you still clutched shirt, as if you holding onto it would somehow make him understand what was going through your head. 

 

Without saying a word, he walked over and took a seat next to you. There was barely an inch between your bodies and heat radiated from him. You refused to speak first, just as he had done the day he met you. It was his turn to make a move. 

 

You could cut the tension with a butter knife, each breath you took in sounding like storm winds against the harsh silence. He crossed his arms in an attempt to self-soothe and you still clung to the blue fabric. 

 

“I didn’t read it,” he said finally. “It don’t make what I did any better, but I didn’t read it.”

 

“I trusted you,” you replied. “I  _ still _ trust you. I don’t know what to do, Arthur.”

 

“Did you read it,” he asked. 

 

“I only saw a page.”

 

“Did you see anything else?”

 

You just shook your head. 

 

“Then you stopped too soon,” he whispered. 

 

“I don’t feel right looking at your things.”

 

“Nothing we’ve done here is ‘right,’ boy.”

 

You spoke up again after a few moments of silence, “You said you didn’t read mine.”

 

“I couldn’t bring myself to open it.”

 

“Then why did you take it,” you asked. “Why did you leave?”

 

“Because I am a coward,” he said flatly. “I didn’t want to buck up and just ask the questions I wanted answers to.”

 

“You can talk to me,” you replied, “You can trust me.”

 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

 

“I only know what you tell me,” you said, turning to face him. “I’m here for you. I don’t care what it is you say to me, I ain’t gonna run off.”

 

He grew tenser, his eyes squeezing shut, “Every goddamn person in my life has either died or run off. I can’t let myself get attached, especially not to someone I met 25 days ago. It’s a fucking curse.”

 

“I ain’t going anywhere,” you said again.

 

He continued as if you hadn’t spoken, “I had a son, he died. Had a woman that loved me and I went and threw that away. I spent over 20 years on the run, working for a wannabe philosopher with a god complex and that son of a bitch left me for dead. Nothing turns out right for me. Nothing.”

 

“I’m not fucking going anywhere,” you practically scolded. “Snap out of it and just listen to me.” 

 

He met your eyes, his face looking sunken and his eyes dark from lack of sleep. You continued, “The reason I got so worried is because you left, not because you took my journal with you. I worry about you because I care about you, more than I’d be willing to admit. Keep it. Read it. Find out every goddamn thing you need to know. There’s nothing but raw truth in there and if that can’t clear things up between you and me, I don’t think anything will.”

 

He nodded, “Okay.”

 

You got up without another word, letting his journal fall from your lap. You didn’t look back as you went through the door, pulling it closed behind you. You were a mess on the inside, but you knew you had to be strong on the outside. You went to your room and sat on your all but dry bed. You couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t focus on anything else. Time passed slowly and your thoughts circled around nothing but him. 

 

You wanted him to be happy. If nothing else was clear in your mind, you could at least recognize that.  Your head was foggy with fatigue and your body felt droopy from a both physically and emotionally draining day. You draped Arthur’s shirt over your shoulders and held one of the sleeves to your face, almost ashamed for how much you were clinging to something that reminded you of him. Still, you were shameless in the way you held it. You sat in the dark and toyed with the buttons on the sleeve, feeling absolutely exhausted but still unable to sleep. It must’ve been close to 2 a.m. when you heard shuffling just outside your door. 

 

You looked up when you heard the knob begin to turn. He slid inside and closed the door behind him, walking slowly towards you, letting his feet drag across the floor. You moved to sit at the edge of the bed and grabbed one of his hands. He was tense but he didn’t resist, taking a spot next to you. You turned your body and stretched your arm out, hovering over his body tentatively before settling on the nape of his neck, his soft hair under your forefinger. He met your eyes in the flickering light of the oil lamp. He was still as a rock, tense and clearly holding something back. This was your chance. 

 

You closed your eyes and made slow gentle movements, rubbing at the back of his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. He didn’t respond, but you still held it for just a few seconds. Your eyes fluttered back open and you saw the way his pupils blew out, just as they had the night before. He wordlessly took your hand and pressed it to his face, leaning into the touch and in closer towards you. He closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, leaning in just a little more and you pressed your lips to his once again. He still took a second, but he was soon moving in tandem with you. 

 

It felt right. It felt as if you had finally found your place to be, the place to call your own. The endless searching and longing came to an end at that moment as his slightly chapped lips came to press against yours. 

 

You pulled away but he still chased it, giving a quick peck to the side of your mouth before letting go. You shifted your position and scooted back on the bed, spreading your legs to make room for him. He followed your lead and sat between your legs, letting his head fall on your shoulder so he could turn his neck and kiss you once again. You let your hands trail up and down his body as you pressed kisses below his ear, his entire body sensitive from years of neglect. You didn’t let him go, both of you entirely touch-starved and desperate to make the feeling of another body last. His hands went to undo the buttons of his shirt but you swatted them away, doing it yourself and basking in the heat of the moment.

 

He sat up briefly to shrug off his shirt and top half of his union suit, undoing his suspenders entirely, leaving his top half bare and open for exploration. You pressed more kisses to his shoulders, worshipping every inch of his body that you could reach. You stroked up and down his torso, gliding over the fuzzy hairs that stayed there. He began to let out choked groans as your hands traveled lower and lower. You cupped him over his tough, denim pants and were met with more groans. You began to undo the fastens of his trousers and he bucked his hips into your hands, desperately seeking more friction. 

 

He raised his hips and pushed his bottoms down to the middle of his thighs, exposing himself to you entirely. You wrapped your hand around his shaft and he let out a high-pitched noise, falling lax under your touch. More sounds left his throat as you shushed him, pressing kisses to the shell of his ear. He reached behind him, one of his hands tugging gently at your hair, the other gripping onto your free hand. Sweat formed at his brow, his mouth hanging open as he let out slews of moans and half-formed expletives. You cupped his balls and massaged them gently between your fingers before returning to stroking him. You kept whispering praises as you brought him closer and closer to his frantically sought release. With a few more tugs and twists of your wrist, he fell apart, spunk spilling from his tip with abandon after finally getting attention. It was clear that it had been a long time since he had gotten off. 

 

He took some time to come down from his high. You took your hankie from your bedside table and cleaned off his belly and your hand as he panted. He turned on his side and you scooted yourself down to lay properly. He clung to you, head over your heart and most of his weight still on top of you. You reached down to pull the blanket over your bodies. He reached down toward your belt but you grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers with his. He gave you a questioning glance but you just pressed a kiss to his temple, shutting your eyes and letting yourself relax properly for the first time in days. 

 

You didn’t wake up alone, instead to the feeling of a kiss being planted along the side of your face. He held you from behind, his arm holding you against him. The room lost its normal sense of cool with the heat he gave off in the small, cramped bed. You turned over and met his eyes, him looking far more rested than he had the night before. His cheeks were rosy and his hair mussed from sleep.  You nuzzled in close to him and he held you tighter. 

 

“My boy,” he hummed, just barely audible as his voice rumbled. 

 

You let a few moments go by, letting your thoughts go unoccupied and just feeling the sensations you were. You let the words leave your lips, tossed with inner confidence but outward caution, “I like it when you call me that.”

 

The day carried on with the same mundane details. You milked the cows and brushed the horses and got the fresh eggs from the chicken coup. You cleaned yourself up and washed your hands before finding Arthur in the stables. 

 

“I need to go to town,” you said, “I’ll be back before sundown.”

 

“Be careful,” he replied. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

 

You turned to leave the barn but quickly turned back, walking up to him and leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. He blushed as you backed away, “What was that for?”

 

“I like you,” you shrugged. 

 

You turned back around but you still caught a glance of the smile that came over his face. You smiled to yourself,  _ just happy to make him happy.  _

 

You saddled up and headed south towards Blackwater, wanting to get something special for him. It was a long ride but the time alone was welcomed. You wanted the time to spend in nature and just enjoy your surroundings uninterrupted.

 

You made your way into town and found the music shop, the strung bells jingling on the handle as you went inside. You were met by an odd-looking fellow, his hair trimmed clean and mustache in a twist. He spoke with an American accent, but he clearly wasn’t from around these parts. 

 

“How can I help you, son?”

 

“I got a uh, friend. He plays a little bit of guitar and is lookin’ to get better. You got any type of guide book or teaching manual, something or another,” you asked, not exactly sure how to phrase what you were looking for.

 

“Right this way,” he said as he came from behind the counter. “There are a few books there he might be interested in. Strings are on the wall and everything else should be fairly self-explanatory.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” you nodded and he left to attend to another customer. You looked over and found a few books for a cheap cost, no more than a quarter a piece. You took a few that seemed to be something he would like. 

 

You continued to browse the store out of curiosity and your eyes settled on the guitars themselves. Beautiful rosewood instruments were displayed for purchase but your eyes landed on one made from a wood stained much darker than the others. 

 

“Excuse me, mister,” you said towards the attendant, “How much for this one here?”

 

He looked over his shoulder and took a glance at the instrument, “Sixty dollars.”

 

Your eyes went wide at the hefty price but you could tell it was made well. You thought back to the chipped and stained body of the one Arthur had at home and the urge to get it for you hit hard. You placed the books you had picked out on the table next to you and dug into your pocket to count what money you had. After filing and sorting the bills, you came to just over $75. 

 

You tossed the idea over in your head but you knew your heart was already hellbent on bringing the guitar home. You bit your lip and shook your head but picked the guitar up nonetheless. 

You went to the cash register and waited for the cashier to come back. He gave you and nod and went back behind the counter. 

 

“Just couldn’t resist, eh,” he said with a smile.

 

“Guess so,” you smiled back. 

 

You counted out your money and placed it on the counter. “I’ve got canvas cases in the back so you can put it over your shoulder. Free of charge, may I add. Thank you for getting something.”

 

“Happy to take it off your hands,” you nodded. 

 

He went past the closed door and came back in less than a minute with a canvas case shaped to fit a guitar with straps to sling it over your shoulder. He took the money from the countertop and looked over what you had between the books and the guitar itself. He handed you a few bills back and change and sent you on your merry way, giving you a paper slip for a free string change in case one broke. You made a quick stop at the tailor and bought yourself another pair of pants before getting on your horse and heading back up north. 

 

The shopping wasn’t time-consuming but the ride to and from sure was. It was awkward holding such large luggage, but you got there nonetheless. It was just before dusk when the cabin came into view. You brought your horse into the stable and took his saddle back off before heading up to the porch and leaning the guitar on the doorway. 

 

You walked through the doors and were greeted with a smile, “How was your trip out? Get everything you needed?”

 

“Just about,” you said. “Got a surprise for you. Close your eyes and c’ mere.”

 

He got up from the armchair and set the newspaper beside him. As you approached the doorway, you had him shut his eyes tight and keep a palm over them so as not to cheat. 

 

“It’s not a huge deal, but I wanted to get you something,” you said as you guided him to sit on the rocking chair. 

 

You undid the fastens on the guitar case and let the pale fabric slide from the body, revealing the dark wood body of the guitar. You walked over stood in front of him and dropped the books on his lap, “You can open ‘em now.”

 

He looked down at the books and grinned his wide grin. He didn’t even register you were holding a guitar until after he had filed through the different booklets. He finally looked up and did a clear double-take, blinking his eyes quickly as if they were mistaken.

 

“Y/N, I-”

 

“Take it, go on now,” you said, holding it out for him. 

 

“I can’t accept this,” he said.

 

“You sure will,” you smirked. “I ain’t lugging this thing all the way back to Blackwater and hell, I did this for a reason.”

 

He reached out with caution as if the guitar would break into a thousand pieces if he laid a hand on it. He put it in the correct position, his hands tracing up and down the rosewood fretboard and strings that were just broken in enough to hold a tune. 

 

“I only have one condition,” you said as you met his eyes, “Promise to sing for me.”

 

He bit his cheek, a glaze coming over his eyes that he blinked away, “Hell, for you? I’d lead the goddamn choir.”

 

You headed back inside after watching him fiddle with the guitar for a while, reading the books with intense concentration and trying his best to get his fingers to move in the way the authors wanted. You heated up the stew you had made a few days before and called him in for dinner. He came in and let the new guitar take the place of the old one, putting the worn guitar in the closet for safe-keeping. 

 

You sat down and served him his food and he let your legs touch underneath the table as you talked about the smaller details of your day. You didn’t realize how quickly things had turned around until that moment, but you couldn’t have thought of a better method or outcome. As long as you made it to this point, you didn’t care how it came about.

 

\--

 

It was another late night. The wind howled and whipped against the trees and bushes. It was growing colder as the dry heat of August began to turn brisk. You and Arthur sat near the fire, your head on his shoulder as the two of you shared coffee and cigarettes under a large blanket. It was simple, it was calm, it was the domestic bliss you had always dreamt of. 

 

“I still think a lot about that night some weeks ago,” he said. “The one we spent out here.”

 

“What parts of it,” you asked as if you weren’t in the same boat.

 

“All of it, I guess. I’m sorry for a good lot of it, but,” he let out a sigh, “Thank you… For all you’ve done for me. I don’t really know how to say it.”

 

“You don’t need to thank me,” you replied, nuzzling closer into him, “I wanted this more than you could know.”

 

“I just… Ain’t no one ever cared for me the way you do, not even myself or anybody I knew before. I ain’t, er, I ain’t ever been with a man before neither.”

 

You rubbed lazy circles on his thigh to keep him comfortable and let him continue, “When I was a boy, I messed around a bit with some others my age. When I got picked up, I just kept all that buried, didn’t wanna seem different from the others, you know how they get. Always fussy at the sight of a feller with another feller. I do think I loved the women in my past, but... I don’t know. It just weren’t right. I wanted it to be, they did too.”

 

“I can understand,” you replied. “It’s a long time to keep things under wraps. I don’t know how you kept calm all these years.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t,” he chuckled. “Was a right mess until I found my place. Hated myself for it for a long, long time, and even though I know better, I still get in my head about it.”

 

“Just remember that you don’t gotta hide anything from me,” you said, sitting up and letting your hand rub gently over his fuzzy jaw. “Tell me whatever runs through that mind of yours and ask for a hug when you need one. I ain’t going anywhere, not a chance in Hell.”

 

His eyes flickered to yours but they soon shut as he pulled you in for a kiss.

 

“I’ll try,” he whispered as he pulled away. “I promise I will.”

 

\--

“I wanna show you something,” he said.

 

“What’s that now,” you said, following him into the den. 

 

“Well, I uh, I’ve been practicing and,” he trailed off, unable to really find his words. 

 

A wide smile came over your face and you sat down, waiting eagerly for what you were about to hear, “Go on. I can’t wait to hear it.”

 

He began to pluck away at the strings, tapping his foot to keep him on time. It was far more adept than the last time he sat you down and played you something. You were utterly mesmerized, speechless at the sounds he was able to produce and amazed by the progress he made in just a few short weeks. You sat back with a dumb smile on your face the whole time. His eyes were closed as he focused on the feeling, letting his fingers run almost on autopilot as he played the song from start to finish. 

 

“Goddamn,” you shook your head. “I’ve never been prouder to call you mine.”

 

He smiled and blushed as he returned the guitar to his spot, sitting on the couch to snuggle up with you, his most favorite way to end his days. 

 

“You know I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I don’t know how important it is, but,” he took in a deep breath, “But it’s important to me that you know.”

 

You took his hand in yours and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, “Everything okay.”

 

He let out a short snicker, “Far more than okay, darlin’. Far more.”

 

He ran his hand over your jaw and brushed back the hairs near your ears. With a firm voice thick with conviction, he said, “I’ve found myself helplessly in love with you, Y/N. I ain’t been as sure about anything else in my life. In all the confusion I have dealt with, you make sense. I love you. I really, really do.”

 

You noticed the wet glaze over his eyes and you could feel your own tears beginning to well. You smiled and leaned in towards him, sighing in disbelief as you pressed your forehead to his. “I love you too,” you said back. “I know that for a damn fact.”

 

The two of you exchanged a passionate kiss and fell back as you catch your breath. He led you back to the bedroom, both of you just a tad too tired to be aroused but you shrugged off your clothing nonetheless. He pressed more kisses along your shoulder before settling down and letting you rest your head on his chest. Just as things got quiet, he began to quietly sing a song that brought back fond memories. 

 

His voice was low and warm, not practiced or manicured, but pure with effort and thought. It was the same song your mother had sung to you growing up and you knew he couldn’t have known that. If you had any doubts about things before, every single shred was erased at that moment. 

 

He held you close as he finished, rubbing circles on your back and just making sure you could feel him. “I love you,” he whispered. “Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying that."   
  


**Author's Note:**

> So i googled it right and there's a 50% chance of someone surviving TB in this time if under the correct conditions. I want Arthur to live happily. Also $60 is a fuck ton of money in 1899 dollars so yeehaw inflation. Don't forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed this, or even if you didn't. Yeah Thank you.


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